You're A Cherry Blossom, About To Bloom
by UnleashTheDragons
Summary: I know that I am covered in sweat and the leftover of my lunch, but I am more concerned over how I am going to tell Riley that even though my date did not go well, did not go at all, I still managed to throw up all over on that Captain Steve Rogers's freaking shoes. Oh my God, somebody please kill me now. I just threw up on Captain America.
1. Accidents Do Happen

"Which one?"

"The blue," she mumbles under her lose as she carelessly flips a page of her favourite magazine. Her curly blonde hair shines in the sunlight as she focuses on the article she is busy reading. Somewhere between "top 10 best muffin receipts" and "butt shaping for beginners", she looks up at me. There is a small line appearing between her carefully picked eyebrows, which reminds me of the fact that this is probably the third time we are having this discussion.

Today, of course.

"Not too-"

"No," Riley says with such confidence she almost makes me believe her. I tend to listen to my anxiety ten times easier than anyone else's opinion, which she is well aware of, so she takes a deep breath and without giving me a second to start hesitating, she continues. "You walk on the fine line between cute and nice and a sexy kitten. _Perfect_."

I take in all the two dresses I am currently holding in my hand and then I land on the blue one. It is barely shorter _but still_ shorter than what fits in my comfort zone. The material is soft and silky, feels nice touching my skin and I do believe coral blue would bring out my eyes and would match perfectly with my natural red hair.

My blonde friend sits up from her laying position and presents me with a cheeky grin. "Relax, Bunny. It's just a date. I know you are nervous a bit, everyone would be, but it's nothing we haven't gone through before."

"Yeah, but I don't know him," I explained in a rushed tone. She is such a daring persona, I know she has had several blind dates, but I hardly ever met anyone I never met before. "And—I don't know—"

She does not let me finish, "There's way too much 'don't know' in that sentence. Haven't you learned before that even if you don't know something, it might turn out good? Look at the bright side, would you? It's just a date, after all."

I nod. I _know_.

It is indeed just a date with a total stranger, someone I have never met before, so therefore there is nothing I should be stressing about. Still, however, the thought of meeting new people makes me feel anxious.

"Plus, let's not forget, my girlfriend does know him. She says he is fine. You know I would never let you date another asshole, right?" She waits for my motion of agreement and then continues, "Then stop worrying about it. You act like you've never had dates before. I know for sure it is not true."

I am not exactly lacking of experience. I have had a few nice dates every now and then, even I had my fair share of boyfriends, but in twenty-six years I feel like I haven't managed to find what I am truly wishing for.

In my point of view, I would rather be alone than to be with someone I am convinced I cannot be completely committed to. I tried before, to date without actually listening to my instincts, and there has always been a pang in my chest I cannot explain. Call me way too romantic or just simply weird, I want to have the fire of fresh young love and the embrace and support of an old soul. Something in-between.

My mother, with the support of almost the whole family, says that I am too picky and there is no way I am going to find someone without giving them a proper try. No matter how many times I have explained myself, she does not accept my excuses. She indicates that the problem must be with me and that I am busy searching for a treasure only existing in movies and lame chick-flicks.

"I met your father when I was sixteen," she keeps on reminding me, in a voice I cannot tolerate. She is so know-it-all, does not allow anyone to have their own independent opinions when hers is much, _much_ better. "We went to the same school. _Boom_. Love at first sight. There was nothing to discuss, we were mean to be. What if I said no to him? I wouldn't have your brothers; I wouldn't have _you_. God knows it had to happen that way and I _never_ wished to interfere with the Lord's plans."

I hope I will live the day when someone explains to her that we no longer live in the early seventies and this time around nobody marries at the age of seventeen without accidental pregnancy involved. Deep down, I am aware of the fact that she means good in her own way. It is just hard to process when she is so pushy.

At the very least my father is much nicer; he is silent and supports most of my decisions as long as it makes me happy. He is good to have around, a strong male figure with a loving, tender heart, even though I only see them on the weekends, given the fact that I work full time and usually there is work yet to be done by the end of the day.

I have to admit, most of the time I do not mind.

When I am busy, I almost never notice how awfully empty the bed is next to me and that my roommate, who is also best friend, is never home. Usually, with the exception of Monday and Thursday, Riley is off doing funny things with her girlfriend, Emily, who is a complete sweetheart. They are perfect together, the Ying and Yang. Riley is usually the voice of the reason, but easy to anger and her sarcastic tendencies makes it hard for her to have more than one friend. While Emily is a true dreamer, never truly on the ground and she always tries to see the good even in the worst type of people and she seems to be generally liked by everyone she gets into a conversation with. I am a hetero, yet I do understand why Riley fell for her and this is the first longer period in ten years that I see her balanced.

Even though I never voiced my point of view out loud, and most likely never will, I am indeed very jealous of their happiness. I envy what they feel, all the butterflies and pink clouded stairway they are riding on. I am no way proud of myself for it, but this is how I feel. I am glad she found her partner, I just wish I had someone next to me as well.

Riley always says that before you find yourself, what are your do's and don'ts, you shouldn't get too deep in. Most likely, you would just hurt the other or reversed. I am convinced she knows what she wants, but I cannot certainly say it about myself. She says I shouldn't get all worked up about something I have no control of, but this is who I am.

The fact that bugs me is that I was in a similar state when I was sixteen and now, ten years later, I don't think it has changed, at all. I am working on not overthinking stuff, but with anxiety bugging me almost all night, it is hard not to.

I am not snapped out of my thoughts until Riley stands up from the bed, moves towards me, on her face an expression I know too damn well. She is about to tell me to grown up and take things as they come.

"Aurora," she breathes dangerously low.

Back when we were teenagers, I made her promise not to call me on my real name. I am no way a _Sleeping Beauty_ and everyone calls me Bunny.

I do not exactly remember who gave me the nickname, but I do remember having weirdly-shaped teeth before my parents got them fixed on the summer before I started high school. It sorts of stuck on me and I gladly accepted as I am in no way fond of Aurora.

That is why I know that when someone _does_ say it, I am about to get a head wash.

To my greatest surprise, she just shrugs and point to the dress.

"I can't understand what you are going through," she says after a couple of pregnant silence. "I do not know anxiety, I never had it and I hope I never will. I have been in a bad place before and you know that, but I got through that and I wish I could drag you with me. Sometimes, you could just-I don't know, take a shot and _forget_ about it. Let yourself live a bit, because these are the years you should cherish later on and I am seriously worried about you."

She knows I cannot just _forget_ about it. It is with me, from the second I open my eyes till the moment my mind drifts away to confusing dreams. Slowly and steadily, I learned to control it, but every now and then it comes back and brings all the fears and questions I do not want to dwell on. I do, every time, with a sour taste in my mouth and thundering of heartbeats.

"It is just a date, after all," she adds kindly. "A date you do not have to go on to, if you really don't want to. If you never test the waters, you will never know, that's true, but in the end the only thing matters is to do whatever is good for you."

Riley touches my shoulder in a light manner and what her eyes say at the moments brings me out of the haze. They are emerald green under long blonde eyelashes and are pleading me to get my shit together.

For a moment, I feel sorry that a person like her, always on her feet and never afraid of anything, has chosen a friend like me. She explained to me that she would not accept anyone else around her but me, but like all the time, I listen to her and then question her words in my head.

She is very good with words; I give her that. No wonders, though, her family is full of highly valued lawyers and she is on the way to become just as good as them. Currently, she is working by Stark Industries, led by Pepper Potts, and she is doing an outstanding job. She knows people from high places. Hell, even Tony Stark wanted to hire her to defend him back then, but due to the fact that even though she graduated four years sooner than she was supposed to, she did not think the Government would give a twenty-four-year-old any credit. I don't think she decided right back then, but now, that insecurities are no longer clouding her judgement, she is willing to go into much wider waters. She is brave and she embraced her confidence like a true professional.

There are times when she even managed to convince me to do something I have never even given a thought about. I am _so_ proud.

Anxious. Full of fears. But proud.

I give her another nod, this time with more confidence. Riley is not as sensitive as I am, she has hard time understanding how someone is capable of struggling and questioning herself all the time she is about to head into different areas.

"Give yourself some credit please," she breathes soothingly as she wraps her arms around me in a warm hug. "You finished university Summa Cum Laude and for the fuck's sake, I am pretty sure you were the hottest in your year. You could've gotten anyone, but of course, you had to choose an asshole of a boyfriend."

I groan and I try to get out of her grasp.

We decided on not to talk about Pete, in any circumstance. Of course, she knows about her mistakes, but still pushes my boundaries. She says and does what she thinks is best, even if I do not agree with her ways of approaching my situations.

"Now, however, you have moved on and I do not think we should be handling the subject of your ex as if he was minimum You-Know-Who."

I understand the reference and even if I am a little bit frustrated now, I still allow a smile on my lips. She pinches my cheeks in return.

I mumble under my nose. "His name is Voldemort."

"And he is completely imaginary," she chuckles as my eyes roll back to my skull. "Get your shit together. This is the real world. You're a grownup woman and you need _sex_. No, I'm not talking about your vibrator. You need a huge _flesh_."

 _Says the lesbian_. She has never even seen a _flesh_ before.

I grin at the thought, but I refuse to comment on where our talk is heading to. Somehow, for me, Lord Voldemort and sex can no way fit in the same conversation.

I reply matter-of-factly. "Define real."

A real world where Gods like Thor are walking among us. A world where superheroes do exist, even if witches and wizards are not. It does not seem that bad, though, if we are willing to overlook the danger they are carrying with them.

"Anyway," she grins and considers the conversation finished as she pushes me through the way of our shared bathroom, "you have an hour to get ready and that hair needs to be washed. I will put some makeup on you, but don't expect me to do wonders if you are not completely prepared for it." She surprises me with a big fake groan. "I planned to visit my bestie's room to chill, but I swear I couldn't read a word. Your brain was working so _loud_. So, in return for my nice behaviour, you might do my laundry tomorrow."

I raise my eyebrow at her, "I always do your laundry."

"I am a busy lawyer and just saying, one or two occasion a month does not count as 'always'." She says the whole sentence without actually taking a breath. She scares me sometimes. "Oh and if after the shower I still here complains, we're going to switch. You do my fucked up lawsuit, I go on a date."

"But you have a girlfriend."

"Yes, I do and she happens to be here by six, so would you please move your sorry ass and take a shower? I plan to get some work done and I also need to get laid. Haven't done either, _yet_."

I make a gagging noise and an act of trying to show my finger down my throat, but Riley clearly does not care and pushes me for about a meter away from the bathroom door to closes it behind me with a harsh thud. "I expect to hear the water running, dude. No more questions, no more anxiety. I will wait for you with a few shots, specifically just for _you_."

I silently accept my fate and start to get my clothes off. By the time I get to the shower cabin, I no longer feel like this date is going to be a horror story I will tell my kids about. Maybe Riley is right and I do need this to forget overthinking.

Oh, let's not forget to mention, I am not the only person drinking a shot after I finish. Riley drinks three and I have a feeling the only work she is going to get done only involves her girlfriend. I do not mind, she deserves a break.

Her smug grin just confirms my idea.

* * *

I stare at myself in the mirror, lightheaded and giddy by the time the tequila I have been drinking begins to show its effect. I decide on sneakers by the dress, no matter how Riley insists it is supposed to be wore with high heels. This way, I still carry a peace of my comfort zone and it soothes my inner demons. This is Bunny Evans.

There are plenty of men in the word. If he does not like me without heels, he will most likely never see me without clothes on.

I push a strand of auburn hair out of my face and I give a nod to the woman looking back at me.

This is the confidence I am supposed to have when my mind is not controlled by any beverage.

I no longer think of these things as I head out the door and watch Riley waving at me from the balcony.

* * *

I grow up in Washington DC.

I rarely took trips outside of the state, but I know every bit of Washington.

I have no doubt on where I am going, so I guess letting out stress by pressing my phone is just as fine as if I was chewing my nails off.

I know people are staring at me as I walk past them, laying their hungry or judging eyes on my skirt that shows way too much of my thighs. Stubborn enough not to ruin my night with worrying about nothing in particular, I try my best not to concentrate on it.

I do not even look up until I reach my destination.

 _Raven_ , it is called.

It's a cosy, small bar. Not too fancy for my taste and I have to admit, the warm lights coming out are indeed very inviting.

Everything is elegant, from the wooden seats to a huge marble counter, yet it has the feeling of a bar. I feel less pressured that I had a say in choosing the location. I do not know my partner, but I often come here and that has to be enough to my mind to stop analysing every possible outcome of the night.

If this does not go alright, I could still order a few drinks and have some fun by the billiard.

Not in this skirt, though.

I let out a short chuckle, more or less entertained by my tipsy thoughts. I do have to admit I like myself better when boozed. I tend to be funny, I just wish it could go as smoothly as it is when I am drunk.

I get settled by the counter, greeting the bartender with a wave.

"Hey, Bunny," he greets me happily.

Music surrounds me, I feel the vibration all over my skin.

"Hi, Nicholas."

Thankfully, it is not enough to distract me from the conversation. I can fully participate, hearing his voice just fine.

"The usual?"

"Oh—yeah."

No more questions asked, he starts preparing my favourite drink, but does not forget to keep me entertained. When he is finished, he puts an extra cocktail cherry on my Piña Colada and hands me a small umbrella. He knows I always take them off the cocktail, but I like to keep them. They look _happy_ and I appreciate small things.

"Came alone? Where's Riley?"

I hide my grin in the palm of my hand. I pull my glass closer and I take a long, _long_ sip before I decide to answer.

Nicholas started working here about a year ago. Poor guy has always had a huge crush on my best friend, but he is a straight man and for some reason they tend to ignore the fact that lesbian women do not feel attraction to men.

Riley says it boosts her ego that she is indeed attractive to the other gender, but she has more business in between Emily's thighs than she would in between his.

"Date night with her girlfriend," I reply smoothly. Every bit of me wants this conversation to go on, to keep on distracting me. "You know Riley has a lawsuit to deal with now so they decided to stay by our place tonight. Shit ton of research to do and I think Emily needs to be there to remind her to take breaks."

I do not mention the tequila shots we took before. Riley can handle that lawsuit, but I doubt it would do any good to Nicholas's heart-and well, other _parts_ , to think of hot-lesbian-comfort-sex now.  
 _Jesus_ , maybe I should stop drinking. Even I do not wish to imagine my best friend in situations like that.

While Nick is busy fulfilling his duty of pouring new drinks to incoming guests, I sneak a glance out of the corner of my eyes at the clock, which clearly states eight fifteen. It means my date is almost fifteen minutes late now.

"Uhm, I am supposed to have a date now," I murmur awkwardly, not even intending to inform him, but I need to keep my mouth going. The alcohol in me does its job as well and I wonder if this is a good idea.

Talk. Talk. Talk.

"Is he late?"

I nod.

"Oh, such a loser," he laughs out loud. I know he is not laughing at me in particular, but I wish he would just stop. "Bunny, why the hell you chose a bar for a date, anyway? A princess like you, I'd take to a restaurant. You have no idea what kind of bar dates I've had the _pleasure_ of seeing."

I feel heat creep up on my face.

I might be attractive, but definitely not a princess. This dress has not been one of my brightest decisions, either.

"It's a cool place," I reply, mentally giving me a high five that my voice is not shaking. "I don't know, I don't actually like fancy restaurant dinners. Not my… type."

Nicholas shrugs. "Okay, whatever."

Thirty more minutes and about two more cocktails pass and the thought of going home is more inviting now.

I start to accept the fact that I have been ditched and I simply cannot wait to change into more comfortable clothes. I try my hardest convincing myself that it is not my fault, not at all, but Nicholas's words come back to me in a rush and now I wonder who is the loser.

My stomach turns and turns at the same time my palms start sweating and suddenly I feel really uncomfortable sitting by the counter. I wonder if I should call a taxi, but I decide on going home walking. Maybe if I take a warm summer night stroll, the alcohol in my bloodstream will magically disappear and I will not feel like throwing up anymore.

All this fuzz over nothing. Spending hours to finally settle on a freaking dress for _nothing_ at all. My eyes burn with tears I do not intend to let out. I am too proud and too stubborn to let anyone else other than Nicholas know that I have been dumped. _In that fucking dress_.

Nicholas gives me a reassuring glance when I wave my hand bye and I turn around, heading directly to the door. However, as I take the sharp turn, my moves freeze and my stomach flips. I feel the urge to throw up and I decide this has not been a good idea, at all.

As I am about to exit, I do not notice a stranger's intention of coming in and our bodies collide with a thud, making me lose my balance.

He is fast to react, reaches for my body and holds me steady as if I was nothing but a doll. A fancily dressed, rather drunk doll.

I wish I could see his face when he speaks up, but my vision is too blurry and I am dangerously close to get more awkward. "Are you okay?"

I register the question and I press out a low ' _no'_ between my teeth before I set everything in my stomach free and throw up at the sole entrance of _Raven_ , straight on the shoes of my newly found stranger _._

A minute passes or so when I am finally able to look up again. Then I glance at his shoes, my clothes and then, at _his_ face.

I can only imagine how white I might be at this second.

I see his face now, very clearly, _too_ clearly.

I know that I am covered in sweat and the leftover of my lunch, but I am more concerned over how I am going to tell Riley that even though my date did not go well, did not go at all, I still managed to throw up all over on _that_ Captain Steve Rogers's freaking shoes.

Oh my God, somebody please kill me now.

 _I just threw up on Captain America._

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _First of all, thank you all for reaching this far. :)_  
 _Please note that I am not a native English speaker, therefore grammar mistakes can and might happen. I am currently looking for a beta, but until then, I will try my best.  
_ _Also_ _: I do not plan on Bunny being a damsel in distress, but like every woman, she has to come a long way to get confidence.  
Btw, Steve is not the guy she was suppose to meet. It was just a moment of sheer dumb luck. (I wish I had luck like that.)_

 _Xx, Nessa._


	2. Expectations

He looks down at me, two meters of pure perfection.

I stare back at him, one and a half meters coved in _puke_.

I wish the ground would suddenly open under me.

Why I have to bring myself into these awkward situations, this time in front of a freaking _Avenger_ , I have no idea, but I make a promise to myself to never ever arrange public dates again. Not in this decade, perhaps in Afterlife, where nobody will remember one of the most awkward scenarios of my life.

Captain Steve Rogers does not move until I do, his body shifts the same time mine starts shaking. Even though his shoulders are stiff, he seems fine whatsoever. I reckon his stomach must be really tough due to what he has seen throughout his _career_ , because he does not even bat an eye at the sight of—.

 _Wait_.

He is an _Avenger_.

He is not only an Avenger, but he also happens to be America's most famous war hero. The guy I have been learning about in school. The guy who saved this world many times. New York. Washington. Sokovia. Just a few of many places he has been too and saved many people from dying at the hands out evil forces.

 _And I managed to vomit all over his shoes_.

Realization hits me all over again and now that my thoughts are a little bit clearer I can fully take in what I just caused.

I feel my whole body flush in shame and my stomach threatens me one more occasion, but this time I am able to hold it back. _Holy shit_ , one more round of nausea would certainly not make my pain any easier. In fact, I do not think I will ever be able to get over this disastrous night.

My head is all over the place, mainly by the alcohol I managed to drink while waiting for my date who has not showed up yet and I highly doubt he will; and most importantly because my anxiety hits me in waves now, having escaped from the prison of the back of my mind.

All of this happens in a couple of seconds, no matter how much it feels like a lifetime has passed. Perhaps it has, I am just still too busy feeling sorry for myself.

As I catch the silence in the atmosphere, I start to ramble like a maniac, chanting the same pathetic word over and over again. Maybe he does not say a word because he wants for me to get out of breath, but blood rushes to my ears, to my face and I cannot _stop_.

I just _need_ to get out of this situation, preferably right now, and my inner instincts are urging me to run, as fast as possible. The other, humbler, more embarrassed part of me insist on making up to him. Maybe I could scrub his shoes—and the jeans, _oh my God._

It is too much maybe, way too much perhaps. I have had nothing done yet, but I am on full panic mode.

What am I supposed to do right now?

God, I should get someone. I need to clean this mess up.

"I'm—I'm so terribly sorry," I repeat over and over again, my tone of voice is hushed and pathetic. My stomach is spinning like an old washing machine. "I did not mean to; I swear to God I did _not_ mean to!"

His eyebrows furrow in silent confusion, however, his gaze still does not contain any form of anger or Hell, even _disgust_. Guilt washes over me in waves, interacting with nausea, embarrassment and alcohol quite funny.

"This is indeed a surprise," he ends up saying to me after one more second of awkward silence. I swear I see the ghost of a suppressed smile on his lips, but it disappears so quickly I am not even sure that is what I caught. If I wear in his shoes—oh, little baby Jesus, not again. "Don't worry about it, I will just find the bathroom and get a cleaner on the way."

Some people come by wrinkling their noses at the smell and clear sight of vomit all over the floor of the entrance. Some even stare at me as if they have never seen such a scandalous act at a bar. Do they know that people actually come here to drink alcohol?

Oh, yeah, they do. But normal people go to the toilet if they need to puke. Normal people most likely do not just _let it all out_ or do not drink alcohol at all, if they cannot take it. What the fuck was on my mind when I made this stupid ass decision in the first place? Only my past self knows as she is showing her middle finger to me.

Have I told you before how much I want to die right now? Most likely not enough, because at this point I am still very much alive. Perhaps, if I pretend to pass out, he will just leave me there and I would not have to stand his blue orbs eyeing mine.

I know he has heard my apologies and decided to be overall too nice. So I attempt one more time and he waits patiently. "I live—. "

My first try of speaking fails as I realize it comes out more as a slur than normal, collected speaking. My mouth feels sour, the back of my throat itches and I have no idea where this _sweating_ comes from but it spreads from the palm of my hands to all over my body. A calming shower would mean lot to me now.

I give it another go. "I live—two streets away."

He blinks in surprise. I see on his face that he is trying his best to understand my fucked up drunk logic. I realize I should probably continue if I do not want him to think I am completely _nuts_. I guess my _accident_ does not help the situation.

"I think I have—a pair of shoes," I mutter barely audible. The music washes away my words so I have to repeat again. "I think—I think I have a p-pair of shoes. Those are from my ex, might be your s-size."

I want to bury my face in my hands while silently praying to the Lord that my breath has not been as bad as I am sure it is now.

I know he will not tell me to piss of no matter how much I wish he would. I reckon he is a complete gentleman, based on what I heard about him, but given the fact that he is Captain Steve Rogers, I highly doubt he would come to _my_ place to wear _my_ ex's shoes after I appeared out of nowhere and threw up all over his shoes. Oh, why do I have to be so _cringe worthy_?

His irises are _very_ blue as I raise up my head to meet his observation. Now my vision is not a spinning blur, even though my balance is still not the best. I see him very clearly now, in the glory of a leather jacket with a white shirt underneath. Those magazines never lied when they stated that he is an example of male perfection—his lips are asymmetric, yet so full and alongside with his baby blue eyes he is pretty much angelic to me. Well, I guess to half of the woman population he is considered a very attractive masculine Greek god sent from Heaven to bless our soul with the sight of him. While I never actually paid attention to him on the news, now I do give in and agree on a hundred percent.

 _Wait, what the fuck?_ I should not be even considering him in the way I just did. I blame stupid, too drunk female hormones.

 _Have so self-respect, Bunny. You do not even know each other._

I get lost for a flash of seconds, studying him like a statue. Then, when he notices that I am actually capable of being moved away without letting out the leftover of whatever has remained in my stomach, he carefully guides me out of the place.

I wish I could wash my face.

The fresh summer air blows onto my face, tinkling my skin. I suddenly remember why my clothes are sticking to my body. If anyone, I should be the one rushing home to take a long, warm shower. I am convinced I will still smell like vomit.

"I live close anyway," he states calmly. "No problem. I guess, worst things could've happened today."

I do not wish to know what are the worst things he is referring to.

I thought he was coming along with me, but he makes me stop just a few meters away from the bar. He squeezes my shoulder in a gesture that is supposed to be reassuring. My stomach turns with guilt and I lean against a cool wall.

I let out a heavy sigh. My eyes close automatically as I fight the urge to fall asleep in the middle of an open road.

"Wait for me here please," the Captain insists in an almost protective manner. I squeeze out a low _yes_ , nothing else I could do. "I'll return in a sec. Don't do anything reckless."

As if I could.

What does he mean? I will not be running on the streets like this, for sure. I will not be running anywhere in this state.

In fact, I highly doubt I could walk now.

Perhaps I should call Riley, if I called her she would take me home, but I do not want to disturb her date. At least for her it seems to flow alright and I cannot be so selfish to always put myself at the center of her attention. She has wasted enough time of her own freedom to my constant mental breakdowns and anxiety issues. I could be selfless, for a change.

Yes, but then, I am fucked.

"Here," he says all of the sudden, somewhere near to me, his strong Brooklyn accent is more hearable now. "Drink this."

He presses the cool glass against my face and I let out a low moan. "No."

"You'll thank me later," Captain notes matter-of-factly.

I will my eyelids up, only to realize that he is much closer than I have indicated. Captain Steve Rogers is kneeling in front of me and I thank my luck that there are not much people on the street to witness this. I have no idea why he stays to help me, he could just leave and I would not question why. I am not used to people being so caring, especially not complete strangers.

He came from another time, I come to the conclusion. Must be it. In his time, _fellas_ would never leave a drunk woman on the streets all alone. Now, I highly doubt in his time women like me got drunk at all. Different century, we have got more privilege and so much more possibilities of making _mistakes_ like this.

I lower my eyes to his shoes and I am relieved that he is no longer wearing it.

He has flip-flops on. How the hell has he gone home so fast?

Captain America actually lives close by?

He follows my gaze, his expression clear and collected, still not angry, still not mean. He could scream at me and I would take that better. This undeniably compassionate behavior towards strangers shakes me to the core. He seems just like what I have heard of him. I would love to get to know him, even though I am well aware that it is way too much to ask and would mean no good for either of us. I should be grateful that he is helping now. When he leaves I will have a memory and let it stay this way. It will be fun to tell my grandchildren, that I met Captain America once. I always preferred him over Tony Stark, any day.

I wonder how well alcohol influences my thoughts. It makes me sappy and way too emotional.

I accept the glass he places in my hand and I raise it to my face as I take a sip. I have the temptation to pour it all over my sweating body.

"Wish I could do the same to your dress," he considers and then shrugs. "Do you feel like vomiting?"

A laugh escapes me. I do not mean it that much. "No."

"Great," he says clapping his hands and then he offers one for me till I adjust to my fucked up balance. Then he lets me go as fast as I went in for the touch. "Now that you won't vomit on my carpet, just come with me, please."

I furrow my eyebrows. What is he implying?

He is taking me to his place? Why?

What. The. Ever. Loving. Shit.

My face flushes. "I'm covered in vomit, Captain."

He nods. "That's why."

I cannot read him. He is impossible—I have no idea why he tries to help me.

Perhaps, it is because I do not see myself from the outside. I must look awful, but I will not dwell on this anymore.

"You aren't even mad?" I voice my inner thoughts shakily. I am so ashamed; I cannot stop fidgeting with the ring I have on my finger. I have to make my hands as busy as possible, the movement soothes my anxiety.

Normally, I would have just stayed silence, but I am still rather tipsy and after all of the fucked up shit I managed to swallow today, I honestly do not give a fuck.

He shakes his head and shrugs, "No."

"Why?"

I cannot stop staring at those lines on his forehead which appear when a question I have not meant to ask leaves my mouth. If I would not look irrationally more stupid, I would slap myself in the face.

I let out a deep breath, the alcohol leaves me more with every passing second and as I get soberer, I regret drinking even more.

Fuck it, jumping off a bridge would do as well.

He gestures me to follow him and I obey without a word. I think I owe him that much—I think I owe him way too much for his patience.

"Now, I cannot get drunk anymore, but I used to be able to" Captain says nostalgically. "And I had named Bucky, he—he liked to party. I got some experience with drunk people is all."

James Buchanan Barnes. I know him from Smithsonian.

I do not ask any more questions. I know it is a very sensitive subject to him. He has lost so many people to the war.

To my greatest surprise, I see his intention to keep the conversation going. I reckon he does not want to have an awkward one, after all. I feel awkward enough, anyway. "I was sitting at home, actually. I'm rarely home lately and I was wondering what to do. Not that I don't like modern technology, but—I am not near to normal people."

He talks to me and I am wondering even more. I cannot stop my brain; it is functions by itself, working on ruining everything. I am overthinking again.

He does not take me far away; we actually only walk a few meters together. Just like I thought, he lives three buildings from the _Raven_.

I have not known that he lives so close. It makes my chest area feel warm and my heart flutter. Sometimes I act like a teenager, especially when around ridiculously good looking Greek gods. He is very much how I imagined Hercules to look like.

I sigh. "It must be weird. Being in a new century."

"That I am used to," he replies quickly. His voice is deep, calm and ever-so-sweet. "The lifestyle I'm always used to. It's just—I don't have much company ever since SHIELD has fallen. I don't know—."

"You don't have to explain loneliness," I say to him with what I imagine must be a kind smile. "It's a perfectly human reaction to no human contact. I do get lonely, too and I'm surrounded by people."

He stays quiet and I am afraid he is going to be closed from now on. I never meant to get into his business, perhaps I should keep my mouth shut. Then he stops and grins at me.

"Did not expect wise words from a drunk girl who puked on my shoes."

I do not hesitate. "I did not expect kindness from a stranger. You were supposed to tell me to go impregnate myself."

He waves with his hand. "That's not my style, as they say lately."

Hahaha— _shit_!

Suddenly I realize he does not know my name at all. He opens the front door for me and I walk in, with him by my side to show the way. The Captain does not continue our conversation throughout our way up, but he does speak up when we reach the top roof. "Please don't tell anyone I live here. I actually asked everyone I know to stay quiet about it."

And he does not even know me. But I can imagine his need for privacy, with people staring at him wherever he goes and the media following him soon after, so I do not mean to invade it. He was so compassionate, so much like an ordinary human being the whole word refused to believe him to be. Once he was _just_ Steve Rogers and there was no Captain.

"I promise," I say without breaking the eye contact with him. I am not stunned that I see hesitation in his eyes even I have trust issues and I do not even work as a superhero. I am a perfectly normal, perfectly boring engineer. Before he lets me into his home, I offer him my hand gently, this time more collected and silently forgetting about being covered in food I ate today. "My name's Bunny."

This time he frowns clearly. He does not even try to hide it. "Bunny?"

"Yes," I reply quickly. "It's Aurora, actually. I prefer Bunny, though."

He accepts my hand and smiles. I think this is his most honest smile. "Okay, Bunny. I'm Steve."

I look at the front door of his flat questioningly.

His smile turns into a grin, showing me all of his perfect teeth. "Let's get you some dry clothes. And like I said, please don't puke on my carpet. Natasha just got it dry-cleaned and she would kill me."

Steve is actually having fun at my embarrassment. I find myself not minding at all.

* * *

"Natasha keeps some of her clothes here," he explains at my not-so-indiscreet question of why he keeps women clothing at his place. It just ran out of my mouth and I do not think after our incident that this is what I should be ashamed of the most. Tonight, I have been terrible decisions already, what is one for a thousand many? "In case her apartment is not safe."

"But why does she live there if she knows other people know about it?"

His face darkens, but his eyes are still smiling. "Nobody dares to pay her a visit, is all."

I nod, understandingly. I would never mess with the Black Widow.

I have not gone crazy, after all.

Steve lets me borrow a plain white shirt and jeans, shows me the way to his bathroom and I change silently, not daring to meet my eyes in the mirror across the room.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Thank you for reading this!:)  
_ _Here, you have the second chapter. It's much more like a filler chapter, not much action happening, but our heroes get to know each other and it is definitely the beggining of their relationship.  
I'd like to thank everyone who followed/favorited the story the past few days and I also would thank **EvilChocholateBar** for writing a review. :) Yes, the idea of the name really came from that Falloutboy song. I also happen to have a cherry blossom tatto, so twice the inspiration!  
Thank you again for reading. If you'd like to, please leave a review. _

_xx, Nessa._


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